The ballroom of Le Grand Hotel that night was so magnificent it felt like stepping into a dream woven from gold and crystal.

Clara turned around, ready to leave, but stopped dead in her tracks.

Marcus was standing in the doorway, having used a master override key. He had removed his tuxedo jacket. His tie was loose, and he held a heavy crystal paperweight in his right hand.

"You always were too smart for your own good, Clara," Marcus said softly, locking the door behind him.

"You murdered her," Clara said, refusing to back down. She discreetly clutched the brass scissors hidden in her gown. "You killed an innocent woman over real estate."

"It's a billion dollars, Clara. Do you know how many politicians, judges, and police officers are invested in that project? If it fails, the entire city's elite goes bankrupt." Marcus stepped closer. "Maya was a nuisance. And now, my beautiful, perfect bride has decided to become one too."

"If you kill me, Marcus, the press will know," Clara said.

"The press will know that my distressed fiancé, overwhelmed by the psychotic stalker who crashed our wedding, threw herself from the fourth-floor balcony," Marcus smiled, a chilling, dead expression. "It will be a tragedy. I will grieve beautifully on camera."

He lunged at her.

Clara dodged, the heavy ivory satin of her dress acting as a shield as Marcus’s hand grazed her shoulder. She spun around and drove the brass scissors directly into his forearm.

Marcus roared in pain, dropping the paperweight.